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When a committee of Baltimoreans publicly questioned whether the Armisteads legally owned the banner , Appleton was infuriated. Five bomb ships led the way, lobbing 190-pound shells into Fort McHenry and unleashing rockets with exploding warheads. His mother, Georgiana Armistead Appleton, found herself in the ironic position of decrying her son's arrest and pulling for the South, while clinging to the Star-Spangled Banner, by then the North's most potent icon. Poole is the magazine's contributing editor.
She obliged as many of them as she thought reasonable, even allowing some to snip fragments from the banner as souvenirs. At that point, his family's flag became the nation's.
The flag is old and fragile, but is now being cared for at the National Museum of American History in Washington,.C. Although it is almost certain that the flag Key glimpsed at the twilight's last gleaming was not the one he saw by the dawn's early light, Nicholson did not quibbleKey was, after all, a poet, not a reporter. The occasion was the city's sesquicentennial, celebrated October 13, 1880.
On the Chesapeake, 50 British warships under Vice Adm. Sheads, historian at Baltimore's Fort McHenry National Monument and Historic Shrine, speaking of a time when a new nation was struggling for survival and groping toward a collective identity.
Washington was in ruins, but the war's tide was turning. During a delicate operation that took 18 months, they removed Amelia Fowler's linen backing. "People were banging on his door, bothering him all the time to borrow the flag says Anna Van Lunz, curator at the Fort McHenry historical monument.
"Flags have a hard life says Suzanne Thomassen-Krauss, chief conservator of the Star-Spangled Banner Project at the National Museum of American History. The government paid 405.90 for the big flag, 168.54 for the storm version (roughly 5,500 and 2,300, respectively, in today's currency). That season looked like a disaster in the making for the Americans.
Hugging walls and taking the hits wore on the defenders. Indeed, it would appear that he lent it out only once, when the flag made its last public appearance of the 19th century, appropriately enough in Baltimore. Succeeding generations loved and honored the Stars and Stripes, but this flag in particular provided a unique connection to the national narrative. She apparently kept it within the Baltimore city limits but lent it out for at least five patriotic celebrations, thereby helping to lift a locally revered artifact into the national consciousness.
By the time it reached Boston for its 1873 photo op, the ragged end had been trimmed and bound with thread to contain further deterioration. That conflict, the bloodiest in America's history, brought new attention to the flag, which became a symbol of the momentous struggle between North and South.
There he continued to field requests from civic leaders and patriotic groups, who grew exasperated when he turned them down. Her work kept the flag from falling apart for nearly a century, as it was displayed in the Arts and Industries Building until 1964, then in the Museum of History and Technology, later renamed the National Museum of American History.